Don't Go Where I Can't Follow
by matanee
Summary: Bilbo Baggins had already decided to go home after the encounter with the Storm Giants. Seems like fate has other plans for the burglar, for a magical bond is born between dwarf and hobbit, and, occasionally, unpleasant side-effects may give their journey a whole new turn.
1. The Walls Start Breathing

The Shire had never seemed so far like in that moment.

Big, fat tears rolled down on Bilbo Baggins' cheeks as he was curled against the wall of the cave and tried to remain as silent as possible. Not like anyone could've heard the sound of his weeping over the raging storm outside, but he really didn't need anyone to notice. To ask questions, to pity him. He was homesick, and that is all.

The hobbit closed his eyes and could see the soft, green grass, the hills and the round doors of the Shire. He breathed in the smell of flowers and trees, tasted the gust of fresh bread that just came out of the oven. He felt flavours he've never felt before in his mouth, saw colourful dots dancing behind his closed eyelids, and he could almost touch the warm wind that used to stroke his skin while he was sitting on that good, old wooden bench of his.

Almost.

For once he opened his eyes, these things were all gone. Mere illusions, though, but so real that it caused physical pain when Bilbo realised they had never existed. Leastwise, not here. Since here all the hobbit had were wet clothes, a sword (or, as Balin kindly pointed it out, a letter opener) and nothing else whatsoever. Not even his pocket-handkerchief, and it seriously overwhelmed him. The absolute lack of comfort, safety, certainty and feel of home were as bad as a dagger in his stomach. All he could do was to cry about it. Because what else could a hobbit do?

Bilbo didn't want to fall asleep, for he feared those stone giants could come back and haunt him in his dreams. Until there was the slightest chance these nightmares could ruin the memories he had of the Last Homely House, he was determined to stay awake. The elves made him forget all the misery he had to bear on this journey, and the exhaustion that followed him everywhere. He felt raw and tired, hurt when he was not even injured, and most of all, unwanted. As Thorin put it earlier, he was lost since he stepped out of his round, lovely, green door, and he had no place amongst the dwarves. He was a fish out of water, and he desperately tried to escape, to go back to the depths of the ocean, and never look back.

Some Tooks were never meant to have adventures, it seemed. And wrong was Gandalf, just as the hobbit had suspected.

The halfling didn't have to think for too long about what to do next. He had two choices. One was to stay where he was, lying on the cold, stone ground, keep crying until his eyes grew numb, and let the greater powers handle his fate.

The other was to pack and run.

Bilbo knew there was never a real choice. There was only so much a hobbit could take.

He had made sure that everyone was fast asleep before he started to pack. He rolled up his bedroll, he pulled his claret vest lower and his trousers above, then turned his backpack over his shoulder. He slowly started walking towards the cave mouth.

He was gripping Sting with whitened fingers, as he tried to make his way on the narrow path between snoring dwarves, but once or twice he felt like stumbling. He could barely avoid sitting back on Dwalin's head when his clumsy foot was caught in Gloin's bedroll, but he gained his balance back soon, and sighed with relief.

If he wasn't able to leave this place without being caught, he really didn't know what he was expecting. Rivendell wasn't close, and there was a great chance he would be dead before dawn. And despite all of the reasoning his common sense was trying to convince him with, he kept his eyes on the cave mouth, and held back his breath.

The hobbit was very close to freedom when he noticed something from the corner of his eye. He had no idea how could he miss it, nor Thorin and Dwalin, since they were the first to enter the cave and start scouting. It was a passage with a wide and tall opening, and he was sure it would be impossible to miss. It seemed to call him, to draw him closer and closer, and it was a temptation really hard to resist.

And he had known it for a long time now that he wasn't strong enough.

Before he could've thought about it, he was already moving in its direction, and he didn't even notice his backpack falling from his shoulder with a moderately silent thump. He left Sting behind as well, but he didn't mind. All Bilbo could care about was the pleasant, cool breeze caressing his face and ruffling his hair ever so gently. It felt like an invisible hand was running its fingers over his chin, his dirty, tear soaked cheeks, and it chased away every bad insight he had ever had.

With every step, the emptiness caused by being unwanted in this company seemed to be filled, and all of a sudden, the feeling of pain and fatigue left his body completely. He caught himself smiling, and he forgot everything that's ever bothered him before. The hobbit had never felt such peace in his life, and he knew he shouldn't have been so confiding, but he couldn't help it. It was everything he was yearning for, and now, he felt as complete as he only felt before his mother died. When everything was alright. Now, it seemed those times were still within reach. He would've been a fool not to reach with this in his mind.

The closer Bilbo got, the lighter the path seemed. He could see a greater cavern in the distance, and he could swear he heard the sound of a waterfall and... birds. More specifically, nightingales, and their jug was music for the hobbit's ears. He smiled even wider when he stopped at the end of the tunnel, and slowly looked around.

This cavern reminded Bilbo of the pictures in the books he held so many times as a young hobbit. It was the most beautiful place he had ever been. Dripstones, some of them as big as Gandalf himself, were reaching for him from the ceiling, worn by the endless ages. Nightingales were flying around in the huge space, filling the air with their songs, and chasing fireflies. In the back of the cave, Bilbo noticed the huge waterfall he was hearing the sound of only seconds earlier, and the water seemed so clear and inviting that he felt the need to laugh.

Were not any of these things, that surprised the halfling the most, though. It wasn't a cavern with birds and a noisy waterfall that was so unusual, but rather the small island in the middle of the cave, surrounded by water. It was the only spot, namely, where green grass grew, and a mature willow was standing tall on the toehold. It almost reached the long dripstones, and the longer branches were drifted gently on the surface of the water.

Bilbo's eyes filled with tears at the sight, it was so magical.

The nightingales were flying closer to the tree, playing with each other and singing beautiful songs that Bilbo could almost understand; how, though, he did not know. The hobbit followed them with his eyes, still standing on the same spot. They were fast, but not too fast so he could've lost them. Only when he looked hard enough, he saw a woman lying under the tree.

The hobbit was sure the woman hadn't been there before, but he didn't query anything. He did not dare. He only stood there and watched. The woman had long, blonde hair and her face was hidden to the halfling - he only saw her back. She wore a grey robe, and all appearanced that she was sleeping. Feel her the hobbit could, and he didn't want anything better than to talk to her. He didn't have the courage to speak, though, so he pushed every excuse aside, and stepped into the water with one foot.

His feet were still bruised and covered in cuts from the long journey they had come through the Misty Mountains - probably that is why it felt so overwhelmingly wonderful as the cool water was washing his skin. He smiled and looked down. Tiny fishes were swimming between his legs, and the soft touch of pebbles under his feet sent shivers running up and down his spine. His body was trembling from the joy that tried to burst him from the inside, and his mind was so busy with processing the ecstasy that he didn't even notice the dwarf following him.

Sheer horror took the place of bliss when Bilbo felt something pulling on his vest from behind. It was a firm grip, and he was soon standing on the shore again, facing a very angry dwarf king.

"Thorin," Bilbo breathed, and was still on the verge of panic a little. Thorin's hand didn't move from his neck.

"What are you doing, burglar?" His sharp, blue eyes contained something similiar to worry as he stared at Bilbo, waiting for an explanation.

Bilbo opened and closed his mouth a couple times, feeling like a goldfish, then cleared his throat quickly. "I was about to talk to that woman," he nodded with his head to the small island, but Thorin didn't look away from him. It was becoming frustrating. Those eyes seemed way too blue, and it made the hobbit nervous. "Can I not?"

"You were about to abandon the company," the dwarf growled. Bilbo didn't understand how could Thorin still be so bitter when this place was obviously not meant for that, but he didn't think it was the right moment to argue about it. "Then you came here without a weapon. Are you out of your mind, halfling?"

"I," Bilbo started but couldn't come up with anything. He didn't understand either. All he knew was that he wanted to see that woman, to talk to her, to treasure and preserve this feeling until the end of times. He wanted to feel like this in every single second of his life from now on. "Don't you feel it, Thorin?"

"Feel what?" the dwarf furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and Bilbo laughed. The other didn't feel it, and the hobbit suddenly found it so amusing he just couldn't stop laughing.

"We should tell the others," the hobbit gently wrapped his fingers around Thorin's wrist, and pulled his arm away so he could go back to the company. Before the dward king could've said anything else, Bilbo was already on his way back, with the same huge smile on his face.

"Fili, Kili!" he shouted, and his echo was reverberated from the wet cave walls. It sounded a hundred times louder, and so did the urgent steps of the dwarf king, following him. "Dwalin, Balin, wake up! You have to see this!"

"Bilbo!" Thorin hissed, his voice irritated, but the hobbit kept going.

"Oin! Gloin! Wake up!"

"What happened?" Bofur sat up immediately, his voice hoarse from sleeping, and the enthusiastic face of their burglar really wasn't something that either of them was expecting to see. "What's wrong?"

"I found something! Get up already and follow me!" he urged them and, with huge suddenness, he turned around, crashing into Thorin's chest. The dwarf stood behind him like a brick wall, and Bilbo feared for the soundness of his nose for a second.

"I will never forgive Gandalf for talking me into taking you with us," he growled, and the hobbit's head snapped up to look into the other's eyes. Now that he was out of that cavern, the pleasant feeling was wearing off, and the dwarf's words were starting to hurt him. Again. "You have no use whatsoever. You should've never considered coming with us. Never."

"Thorin," Balin murmured in the background, but he was ignored by the dwarf king.

"I will see to it that you are delivered back to your precious Shire as soon as possible," Thorin grunted out and walked past the trembling hobbit. Bilbo could feel tears piercing his eyes, and he wished he had never left that cavern. He wouldn't feel so unwanted then, so useless, so pained.

The cave grew silent after Thorin walked back to his bedroll, but Bilbo never moved. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and he looked up at the tunnel in the wall of the cave with longing.

He had never expected it would be gone.

Bilbo forgot about the pain right away, and ran to the spot where the tunnel's opening rose only a few minutes ago. Now it was all gone, and the hobbit ran his palm over the stone wall, like he was searching for a secret handle. He felt the despair building inside him with every passing second.

"It's not possible," he whispered, and pushed his ear to the wall. He wanted to hear the sound of those birds again, the waterfall, but all he could hear was the silent talks of the dwarves behind him.

"What's the matter, Mr. Baggins?" Kili came up to him, but Bilbo couldn't answer for quite some time. He was still desperately looking for the only way that led him to being content, to feel joy, and now, it simply vanished.

"You saw us coming out of that tunnel!" he turned around swiftly and blinked up at Kili. He could barely catch his breath. "You saw us!"

"What tunnel?" Fili asked from the background. Bilbo let out a helpless moan and turned to the wall again, hitting it with his fists.

"There was a tunnel here!" the hobbit was yelling now, attracting everyone's attention. "We've been in a different cavern, and I wanted you to see it, but now, the tunnel is gone!"

"I can see no tunnel, laddie," Balin shook his head with his hands on his hips. "Are you sure?"

Bilbo felt like crying. Everyone thought he was crazy, and now his last chance to feel happiness on this terrible journey was gone. And he couldn't bring it back, doesn't matter how badly he wanted to.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea if Thorin sent him back. But why did it hurt, then? Why did it suddenly hurt so much to think about leaving?

"The halfling speaks the truth," Thorin showed up next to Balin, then walked to the cave wall. Bilbo was looking at him with hope he's never felt before, that maybe, just maybe, Thorin could do something, because he was there. They were there together, and they saw. Maybe Thorin didn't feel what Bilbo felt, but the dwarf saw everything. He must have had an explanation. "There was a tunnel here."

His face reflected pure confusion and worry, and when he looked down at Bilbo, the hobbit realised that he was hoping too fast. Thorin didn't know more than him, and it planted fear in his heart.

"What in Durin's name is going on?" Dwalin muttered balefully and switched his gaze between his companions, but no one could come up with anything.

"Something is not right," Nori shook his head and started to back off in the direction of the cave mouth. "We should get going."

"In the middle of the night? Have you gone mad?" Ori asked with tangible disbelief and snorted. "I don't want to die by stone giants!"

"Then what should we do?"

"I won't stay here, you can be sure of tha'!"

"Arguing won't help our situation!"

"Neither disappearing passages, Fili!"

Bilbo didn't pay attention to the disputant company. All he could think about was that strange and beautiful place, and as he carefully looked up at Thorin, it seemed like he had the same thoughts in mind.

"I hate to interrupt, but what's that?"

Bofur's voice was drawing attention immediately, and everyone was staring at the direction he was pointing to. The air was stuck halfway in Bilbo's lungs as he realised what the toymaker was implying, and the sudden grumbling noise that came from under the ground didn't mean any good either.

Bofur was pointing to Sting, and the sword was shining in the bluest blue. It didn't need explanation.

"Grab your bags and get out of the cave, now!" Thorin yelled, and suddenly the whole company started to run around in the cave like a frightened hive.

Bilbo noticed the crack in the ground first, at the same spot where Thorin was meant to step, and as the earth disappeared from under their feet, the hobbit could pull back Thorin in the last moment. All of the other dwarves were falling into the endless pit with loud cries, but the relief that Bilbo felt was short lived. Thorin immediately wrested himself out of Bilbo's hold, and stared back at him with a frown. The hobbit's stomach dropped immediately.

"I don't need your help, hobbit," he bit out without any softness in his eyes. Bilbo felt sick from this amount of disgust. He knew the dwarf's opinion on him, but he still could not understand what turned Thorin against him like this. "It's your chance to go back to your Shire, and forget we have ever met."

The hobbit was frightened as he watched the dwarf king disappear in the pit, and he had to collect every ounce of willpower in his small body to fight back a panic attack. His skin started burning, more and more with every second, and he could barely see through his tears. He knew what was the right thing to do, but why would he do that if he was only a burden? If he had the chance to turn around and leave?

Just like earlier, he realised he didn't really have a choice, not even now.

He quickly picked up his bag and sword from the ground, and, with a great sigh, he jumped after the dwarves.


	2. No Ghost Can Hurt Us

On when exactly Bilbo reached the ground, he had no idea.

In his last memory, he was falling and falling, with the speed of a comet, and he actually felt like one, because he could've sworn his skin was on fire. He had never felt such burning before, such itching that covered his whole body, but he didn't have to bear that pain for too long, for once he reached the bottom, he lost consciousness.

The hobbit was lying on the hard ground for hours without moving. If anyone had seen him, they would've thought he was surely dead. He was barely breathing, and a deep cut was running down his cheek, starting off in the base of his forehead. It was bleeding, resulting in his hair sticking to his skin, and it seemed way worse than it actually was.

After a longer rest than what he intended to take in this strange place, he slowly opened his eyes. He could barely see through the haze that was sitting on his eyes, but when he managed to ignore the terrible aching of his head, he could make out a figure standing above him. The hobbit's face was twitching from the pain as he tried to sit up, and he could scarcely even raise his arm to the scar on his face. He wasn't particularly surprised to see his own blood soaking his palm, but his stomach dropped for a moment, and he looked up quickly.

Bilbo could tell now that the figure was a man. The halfling knew it well that he should've been afraid, or at least cautious, but he felt the sort of peace which he had only experienced back in that cavern. His head might've been aching and he might've been bleeding, but he didn't feel threatened in the company of this strange man with the long, black hair. He looked like an elf in his green robes and even greener cloak, and the half-smile on his face was everything but a reason to be afraid.

But what would an elf do in a goblin cave?

Bilbo came to the conclusion that he must be dead. Obviously.

"Am I dead?" he spoke his mind after a bit of hesitation. The man in front of him just shook his head with his smile slightly widening. Not enough for Bilbo to notice, though.

"No, Bilbo Baggins. You are very much alive," he answered, and his voice was surprisingly deep. He was a tall man with wide shoulders and piercing, blue eyes. Not as piercing as Thorin's, though, but...

_Oh, for mercy's sake, what happened to the dwarf?_

The man spoke, as if he had read Bilbo's mind. "Do not fret, little hobbit." The stranger stepped closer and kneeled in front of Bilbo, so he could look into his eyes more closely. From so little distance, Bilbo could tell he was not an elf, but something more. Something the halfling couldn't quite put his finger on. "No harm has come upon your friends. Not yet."

"Where are they?" The hobbit was almost too afraid to ask, but before fear could've started to grow in his heart, something always soothed it and brough him comfort again. It felt like magic, but he didn't dare hope.

He never admitted it, but he would've given anything to have Gandalf by his side in that moment.

"Their present situation should be their concern only, not yours," he murmured on his low, hypnotizing voice, and looked at the hobbit with a soft expression. "You should care about the future, and the future only."

Bilbo started to feel worried, but, unlike his fear that simply vanished, it seemed to stay with him. "What does that mean?"

"The future holds challenges for you, little hobbit. You should never let your guards down, for danger lies in wait for you everywhere you go. This is a long journey that must succeed, cost what it may."

The hobbit slowly started to realise that there was only one reasonable explanation to this whole situation. Mysterious aids with such knowledge on the future weren't hiding in wet, dark caves under the Misty Mountains, and lost, injured hobbits didn't trust them so easily. Unless the helpers wanted them to.

And where else could have they reached it than in a dream? It explained everything, and also gave him a tiny bit of comfort.

If it was all going to end badly, he would be sure there was a way out. Somewhere.

"I presume you won't give me details on this very dangerous future, will you?" Bilbo sighed deeply, and, for the first time, the stranger gave him a small chuckle.

"You will learn everything when you are meant to, Bilbo Baggins," he bowed his head, then stood up to look down on the hobbit.

"You won't even tell me your name?" Bilbo tried without truly hoping he would get an answer.

"You may know me as Lórien, but I can tell you nothing more," Lórien shook his head, and started to move back, extending the distance between them with every step. "You will find your answers once you are ready for them. This is not the last time you see me, little hobbit."

Bilbo wanted to speak, wanted to ask more questions, but the strange man slowly disappeared in the fog that certainly hadn't been there before. A bizarre sort of exhaustion began to blur Bilbo's mind, and in spite of his attempts to fight it, the feeling soon took over him, and he feebly fell to the ground.

The next awakening wasn't near as pleasant as the first. The throbbing pain in Bilbo's head and the bleeding of his injury were much worse than in the strange dream, and the burning sensation on his skin had immediately returned once he regained his composure. He was scared and helpless, and it took a few minutes before he could stand up and look around.

It goes without saying that the man - Lórien, as he was kind enough to share this information - was long gone, and Bilbo was completely alone in the huge cavern. Unfriendly cliffs and skeletons surrounded him, and Bilbo could've sworn they seemed to frown at the hobbit. He shook this ridiculous thought out of his head at once, and, to look for some comfort, he reached to grab the hilt of his sword.

His terror only grew as he realised that Sting was missing from his swordbelt.

Bilbo wasn't lacking his backpack at first. He didn't really notice the absence of the weight on his shoulders; after all, he had enough pain to bear already. The bleeding soothed as the minutes passed, and only the piercing ache was left behind in a long line from his forehead to the middle of his cheek. It cleared his right eye by inches, but the relief one would feel after a realisation like this was missing. He was too busy looking for his sword in the dark.

It should glow blue, he thought desperately. He had seen no blue light, however, and it made him anxious. He didn't remember whether he had the sword with him in the dream or not, but he guessed dreams weren't actually good leads to go on. He was weak from the heavy landing after the fall, and the burning on his skin just didn't seem to go away. What is more, Bilbo felt like it was only intensifying.

The hobbit was searching for a good fifteen minutes when he couldn't go any further, and finally allowed his knees to give out. He unceremoniously sat down behind a huge rock, almost twice as big as him, and, with a bow of his head, he slowly closed his eyes. He didn't want to cry, but he was really close to the edge. His whole body was in pain, he didn't see a way out in this darkness, and he might as well have died there, no one would have noticed. Some lone goblin would find his skeleton and use his bones to sound the war drums. He would sink into oblivion. The dwarves might take back Erebor, or they would die, too. Gloin might meet his family again, or he might not. Fili might be a real dwarf prince one day, or he might not. And Thorin? Bilbo really hoped Thorin could be king. That he could finish Smaug off and earn what he deserved. That was all Bilbo wished for him while sitting in that dark cave, listening to his own heartbeat. However, if the dwarf was meant to fail, he will fail, and Bilbo won't be there to help him.

He couldn't even help himself, let alone a king.

What would happen to Bag-End if he died, though? The Sackville-Bagginses would probably put their hands on the place, turning it upside down if they had to. Oh, how he missed the Shire! He grew more and more powerless as he wandered back in his thoughts, to relive the days when he was a respectable hobbit; when he didn't know dwarf kings and toymakers and thieves. When he didn't have to starve, to feel pain, to feel lonely. And yet, those were the boring days, compared to everything he had already been through. As a young hobbit lad, he was absolutely oblivious to the world beyond the Shire, and he longed to see it. Now, he wished he could take everything back and forget every last ounce of Took he had in him. He was a Baggins, and he wasn't made for adventures.

After all, he already felt like dying after the first real obstacle.

His hand, that was resting in his lap so far, slowly slipped to the ground and he took a shaky breath. He was just about to completely lose himself when his finger touched something cold; something differently cold from the tiny, sharp rocks on the ground. He furrowed his brows for a moment, trying to palpate the small object, then he opened his eyes. It was truly a surprise.

The trinket in his hand was a small, golden ring. Despite the darkness in the cave, it shone through with its flawlessness, and Bilbo could do nothing but to stare at it for a moment. What would such a valuable ring do in a place like this? It was a really interesting situation, since it was the second time he questioned the stay of something since he was there, but he felt too tired to look for connections between the two occurrence. He forgot about his pain for a few minutes as he kept turning the ring between his fingers, and then he delicately let it slip on his third one.

Bilbo felt a sudden rush of warmth washing over him, and, all at once, everything seemed lighter. He noticed small holes in the wall that he couldn't see before, huge cliffs hiding in the shadows, and, not too far, a lake in the deeper part of the cave. They weren't the only things he noted with utter surprise, though. The burning of his skin was all gone, and the only pain he felt was the ache in his head. The hobbit didn't understand, but dare he did not remove the ring from his finger. It seemed to give him comfort, and that was all he needed.

He felt his spirit coming back, and he stood to start looking for his sword again. This time, he didn't have to wander around for too long, for on the shallow edge of the lake, he spotted both his backpack and Sting. The joy that took over him was almost overwhelming, and he didn't care too much about the throbbing pain of his injury. The hobbit was walking quickly, and picked up his belongings without hesitation.

Maybe he wasn't meant to die here after all.

Finding the way out was more difficult, though. He had to pass round the lake (which happened to be larger than what the hobbit expected) and squeeze himself through narrow gaps in the cave wall. It resulted in losing some of his buttons, and he let out a small, pained sigh. His vest seemed a bit less decent now, but he didn't spend too much time mourning over it. He could sometimes catch a weak breeze of fresh air and he tried to follow it the best he could. For the first time since being down here all alone, he was grateful to have some Tookish blood in him. The line of his mother took pride in some adventurous hobbits, and he might inherited their skills in finding the right way quickly.

He just needed to find the ring first.

Seeing the last rays of the setting sun felt like a balm to Bilbo's heart once he was out in the open. He knew he shouldn't have been wasting any time, for he could've been caught at any moment, but he couldn't make himself move from the mouth of the cave in the mountain side. He stood there, breathing heavily like he was running for his life, and he inhaled the fresh air until his lungs couldn't take more. He wasn't safe out there in the woods either, but to feel the nature's warmth on his skin was better than anything he had ever experienced before. It reminded him of things he long lost but still yearned for, places he wished he could've been, people he wished would've been there with him.

Yet, he was still alone, and he had to move to find the others. He only hoped they could escape the mountain as well.

One basic thing Bilbo learned from the company was to always find shelter before the sun completely disappeared on the horizon. At the beginning of their journey, setting up the camp was the favourite part of Bilbo's day. He was usually alone, collecting twigs and dry branches, but if he wanted company, he could join Fili and Kili. The sister-sons of Thorin always kept him in good spirits, and their merry laughs and playful natures never ceased to put Bilbo in a good mood.

There were occasions when Bilbo took a stroll around the camp where he could still see the campfire and hear the dwarves, but still, he could be alone with his own thoughts. He often caught himself thinking about Bag-End as he picked some berries that he recognised from the Shire, and the company was always more than happy to accept if he offered them from his 'takings'. Not all of them, though. The 'ri brothers were always the most welcoming towards him, and so was Bofur, Bombur and the Durins (never Thorin, of course). Dwalin always spent time with Thorin and he never talked to him more than a few words, and sometimes he could sense suspicion on Bifur as well, but from a dwarf with an axe stuck in his head, it wasn't all that wondrous. Bofur always tried to comfort the hobbit, whenever he could, telling him that he was one of them now, and that they would've done anything for him. For some reason, it never worked. Bilbo always felt like an outsider, even when he was cooking with Bombur or he was listening to the stories of Balin. One look at Thorin was enough to feel unwanted and a burden. It was hard to look at him sometimes.

If Bilbo was really about to live in this illusion that he was useful for the others, it was the only way to cope. He had to ignore that look.

Now, as the halfling was sitting between two massive snags in the base of a tree, he would've rather kept looking at Thorin's bitter expression than to be completely alone. He didn't dare light a fire or to even make a sound. He just sat there, playing with the ring on his finger but never removing it, and listened to the sound of the wind between the shrouds. When he looked up, he could see the bright stars on the raven black canvas of the sky in the distance, but when he turned his head to the other direction, the clouds were painted in pink, hinting that there would be bloodshed during the night. It was another thing the hobbit could learn from the dwarves: reading the signs of the sky. Everything had a meaning, and somehow, Bilbo found it fascinating; although those signs weren't meant for him, but for the dwarves. He was just an attachment.

The hobbit missed the company more than anything, and even the ring didn't give him consolation anymore. The pain in his head was only moderate, and, while he wore the ring, he didn't feel the stinging on his skin. All he had to worry about was to not get abandoned, for the dwarves will surely think he escaped and went back to the Shire as soon as he saw the chance. And yes, he was contemplating the possibility, but his better half talked him out of it.

He had to find the others. But he did not know how.

Bilbo did not know where he was exactly, but he guessed he was closer to the eastern side of the Misty Mountains, which meant he was far, far away from Rivendell. There was no way he could make it back without getting caught, being a hobbit or not. He didn't have a map, and these lands were unknown for him. He was already lost, and it seemed absolutely impossible that he could find his way back to the East-West Road, let alone to the Last Homely House.

Dark, gloomy thoughts started to fill his mind again about being torn apart by wolves after he died (or even worse, causing his death), and sinking into oblivion, leaving the dwarves to remember him as a coward and a traitor. He was deep in these thoughts when suddenly, distant cries and the familiar howls of wargs caught his attention. Bilbo raised his head immediately, trying to find the direction where the noises were coming from, and he soon realised it was behind him, farther in the woods. For a second he hesitated, thinking about going in the exact opposite direction, but he knew his choice already.

Not like there was a choice at all, not really. It seemed like he never had one.

And maybe that was absolutely fine.

He picked up his bag from the ground and started to follow the voices, never letting go of Sting's hilt. He felt his blood heating up the closer he got to the end of the woods, and as a strange smell found its way to his nose, he stopped abruptly.

Was it something..._ burning?_

He looked up but could see nothing besides the dark night sky. He burnt his food enough times back in his little hole that he could recognise this smell anywhere, and his senses seemed to serve him right, for he soon felt heat coming from the distance. At the same time, he saw the orange flames reaching the sky, and the trees started glowing. Bilbo felt his heart beating in his throat. He could barely hear the voices anymore, but the howls grew louder and his stomach dropped.

He had to hurry, for he was sure this was the danger Lórien warned him about. And if he had a chance, he would make sure the journey succeeded, 'cost what it may'.


End file.
